


homemade cookies

by zauberer_sirin



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Emotional Support, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Future Fic, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 11:18:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9721955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/pseuds/zauberer_sirin
Summary: They agreed not to do anything special on the day. (Valentine's Day fluff)





	

She feels rejuvenate at the sight of their little bunk.

Phil is still in his suit, which means it has been a long day for him, too, but she really doubts it has been as long as hers.

He has the tv on and turns the volume down when Daisy opens the door.

This is one of her favorite things of her life as it is right now, it sounds silly but it is: opening the door to her bunk and watching Phil Coulson scoot over and make room for her on their bed. Hey, she is a girl of simple ambitions. Other than, you know, justice in the world and equality for Inhumans. But that last part seems particularly unattainable tonight. Phil, on the other hand, has been _very attainable_ and very often, these past few months.

“You’ve already got the History Channel on,” she notices. He nods, proudly. “I’ve taught you so well.”

“Come here,” he says, reaching out his arm to her.

Daisy climbs on the bed and this is her favorite part of these days, she kisses Phil, grounding herself. The rest of the day seems unreal compared to this. She slides her mouth over his comfortably, familiar. His hand on her back. He smells nice - he always smells nice (not _always_ , he’s still a guy, after all), and the room smells nice too, in a way she can’t put her finger on. Hello-kisses are nicer than goodbye-kisses, and she much prefers them to good-luck-kisses, which, in their line of work, happen all too often.

It’s easy to transition from the welcome-home-kiss to lying in bed next to Phil. Her gaze is resting, rather than focused, on the tv screen (how many times can this channel play the same program about stolen Nazi gold?), and she is waiting for Phil’s warmth to distract her from what happened today in Washington. She notices, very acutely, that he is not asking about it. 

“I know you said you didn’t want to do anything special tonight,” he starts. Daisy eyes him. “And I _agree_. But I couldn’t resist making something for when you came back.”

“You cooked something,” she says. “So that’s what was smelling so good.”

Of all the things that are important today the fact that it’s Valentine’s Day doesn’t seem to be one of them. Still, Daisy will admit to have some sort of hope that he’d make a gesture, despite their agreement. She knows she shouldn’t fall for such an obvious marketing trick, and she’s totally not, but she likes that they find excuses to pamper each other.

Phil puts forward a box that had been resting on the nightstand.

Daisy opens it, heart warmed despite the day she had; she knows Phil likes cooking, it’s not that he went out of his way, but excuse her for being a little excited, she’d never dated someone who would cook something for her on Valentine’s Day.

Inside the box two rows of small, really delicious-looking cookies.

They are made with different kinds of chocolate - Phil hates dark chocolate, but he knows she likes it, so there’s a couple with dark chocolate, and then white, and some coconut, too - but they all have the same sugar decoration on top. A little daisy.

She knows how he does these things, because she has watched him cook enough times (it's one of her favorites things about _this_ ), there are no secret ingredients or techniques anymore. But the image of Phil in the kitchen, bending over the counter, drawing the little daisies on each cookie with care... it does nice things to her stomach. And other parts.

“You’re such a sap,” she says, leaning back against his shoulder.

Phil nods, looking pleased with himself.

Okay, this arrangement might not be perfect; they both have a lot of baggage, and they don’t know how to stop work stuff from messing with their personal relationship. But it’s pretty great, Daisy decides, wrapping her body around his as reward and taking the first cookie from the box. 

They taste really recent and she wonders where he got the time.

“So how did it go today?” Phil asks, finally, now that he knows a bit of chocolate has improved her mood.

She sighs loudly. She has been stopping herself all day, so now she can do it.

“The military still wants to go on with the vote?” Phil fills in the blanks thanks to the noise.

She nods. It’s nice not having to talk sometimes. Not to wax poetic about her boyfriend, but it’s one of the great things about him. He gets what she means whether she is ranting at maximum speed for ten minutes straight or whether she stays still and quiet. There has been a lot of “still and quiet” lately.

“What are you going to do?”

She stiffens.

It’s not like she hasn’t thought about it at length, since the possibility of SHIELD being forced to assimilate the Watchdogs came up. She knows her gut reaction is the right one, but she’d be lying if she said Phil is not part of the reason she wanted to find other options.

After today she feels her options shrink. And she has to be honest.

“I can’t stay in an organization that employs ex-Watchdogs, just because they _could_ be useful, in case my people stop playing by the rules.”

“I know,” Phil says.

She thought things would be better now that SHIELD didn’t have a Director, and was dependent on the government. But that also means none of them can do anything about this crap.

She is used to leaving, it’s just that she didn’t think it’d be so soon, again. It’s just that in the last couple of months some stuff (okay, some stuff like _this_ , like eating homemade cookies with Phil in their tiny bunk and being comforted after a bad day, she never had the comforting part with anyone before) has been balancing out the crappy stuff and she thought that maybe this time, maybe this time home was for good.

It seems like she was wrong, again.

“Pity,” Phil says. “I liked the new bathroom tiles.”

She turns her head - not easy, since she has half her body resting on his chest - and stares at him.

“Phil… I can’t ask you to walk out with me,” she tells him.

Part of her wants him to, the selfish childish part. But this is their first Valentine’s Day together, they’ve been a couple for only a handful of months - sure, they were Coulson and Daisy for years before that, so it’s not like this is not serious, it’s the most serious they’ve both had. But still. She can’t expect him to…

“You’re not asking,” Phil says, nonchalant, taking another cookie and biting the edge. 

“Be serious,” Daisy says, sitting up, pressing her palm against his heart. “SHIELD is your life.”

“And you’re my family,” he says. He blushes a bit when he says it, patting Daisy’s hand. They are rarely this vocal - which, she decides, right now, was not a good thing, so she plans on working on that. 

Suddenly it doesn’t seem so bad - a future outside of SHIELD, running again, with someone who has her back. More importantly, with this someone. It almost seems fun, the idea of being outcasts, vigilantes together. She’s probably just in denial but hey, it’s a special day. 

She has run away on her own plenty of times. She is not about to tell Phil not to follow her this time.

“Okay but I have to warn you,” she says, eating a bite. Mmm, bitter orange ones, she likes those. “My van is very small.”

“Mmm, cosy,” he comments.

“Don’t get flirty,” she jokes, as her gaze finally focus on the tv screen - vikings, cool, viking documentaries are always fun - and her body finishes relaxing against Phil’s, like it’s become liquid. “I’m still technically your superior.”

“Another reason to solo,” he says. Daisy can hear the frown. “Or _solo together_. You won’t be able to order me around.”

“Yeah, like that’s going to stop me.”

Phil chuckles - it wasn’t a good joke, but he laughs at all her cheap jokes, and she has never had that before - and then, after a while, drops a kiss on the top of her head.

“We’ll figure it out,” he says.

The tv volume is still quite low, it’s easier to hear Phil’s heartbeat than the dusty historian voice commenting on the origins of Beowulf. It’s nicer, too.


End file.
